


Letters

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos in the Desert Otherworld, M/M, Or rather post-desert otherworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7154828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were many things Carlos did not know about the time he spent in the Desert Otherworld. This is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

Carlos had lost his glasses yet again. He’d looked in all the usual spots, the unusual spots, and was now searching through things like all of Cecil’s many ballet flats and the compost bin. 

It was behind the bed that he found them.

Not his glasses, no (those took another hour of searching, five minutes of screaming in frustration, and thirty more minutes of perusal of the house), but a rather large Manila envelope. It was a dusty gray, and had a sparkly smiley face sticker on it. “Carlos” was written in crayon on the front. 

Cecil’s voice floated serenely from the radio. Carlos turned the package over in his hands. 

He lifted the flap and slid a stack of paper - the nice paper, the thick pale purple kind that Cecil loved so much - out. It was difficult; the envelope was full to bursting. 

He felt vaguely guilty about “poking, Carlos, _poking_ ” and went to put the papers back, but his name caught his eye.

_Dear Carlos,_ said what Carlos now knew to be a letter, _I haven’t done this in a long time. I’m not sure what ‘this’ i’m referring to. I’ve been doing a lot of things recently that I know I’ve done in the past but can’t recall._

_Dear Carlos, I hage not sleeped in nights, so sorry for aany misspellings. I’m not sure why - I just can’t get comfertable._

_Dear Carlos, I know you won’t read these (no postal service where you are, I think) but I am truly sorry for any residual psychic complaints you may have received from me._

_Dear Carlos,_ – and here was a large stain that blotted out half of the rest of the page. 

They continued for sheets and sheets - long letters, short letters, letters with impeccable grammar, letters where one in ten words was misspelled, letters in purple ink, letters where the words were blurred by liquid. 

Carlos turned to the last page and realized he was crying. 

Cecil’s show would be ending soon. Carlos packed the letters up, replaced them behind the bed, and picked up his phone.

“Hey, Ceec, just wanted to say hello…”


End file.
